Lunar Effect
by thoth-moon
Summary: The full moon has been associated with increased activity such as sexuality, mental disorder, and violence. The alleged correlation is known as lunar effect. Observe... Kuronue/Kurama
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I've had the basic idea for this story for years, not long after I began posting "The Wrong Turns & Detours of Love" online. Only now have I really been able to actually write it without quickly lagging after the attempt's beginning. This is good, though; I have more knowledge that could be useful for its composition now than I did then. Hell, I only finally settled on the very _title_ a few months ago.

Considering what is given of Kurama's background in the series, I've set this story in Japan's Heian period. I'm going to try and do my best to retain at least some authenticity regarding things such as the customs (for instance, as in this chapter, that married women blackened their teeth) and folklore, though I may err. But at least you may be assured that I'm not pulling the entire thing out of my ass, ha-ha.

* * *

While the sun gives life to the earth, the moon is not without its influences. It commands a pull that holds sway over the tides, moisture, plants, humans and animals, and perhaps even the body and frame of mind. The full moon especially has been associated with an increase in activity such as fertility/virility, mental disorder (hence the term "lunacy"), and violence. This alleged correlation is sometimes known as **lunar effect**.

Lunar Effect  
Chapter I  
January 15, 2008

A not-quite-full moon cast its light over a grove of lonely laurels, the leaves of which shimmered silver intermittently as the breeze caused them to sway in one direction and then the next. Save for the resulting murmur in the canopy and to a lesser degree the grasses below, the grove was quiet. At least, until an unsteady shadow low in the sky fumbled, and the breaking of branches accompanied by cries of pain laced with obscenities announced that the grove's peace was for the present finished.

From one of the trees came a light shower of leaves and snapped branches, which preceded the laurel's accomplishment of giving birth. Its baby landed at its roots, swearing and writhing in agony. The baby was by no means an infant. Rather, he—for it was a male—was a young vagrant, lean (malnourished) and winged (demon), currently suffering an uncomfortable condition of dishevelment. No doubt this was caused primarily by the arrows residing in the flesh between his shoulder blades and subsequently his wings, thus his current situation at the base of the tree.

Ironically, and much to the sufferer's humiliation, he had attained these injuries not from a fight with one of his own, but from members of that species that most breeds of demon deemed in one aspect of another inferior: humans. And his assailants had not after a tiring and bloody standoff drove him off from an escapade of destruction, theft, and sampling of flesh. Unhappily, he was a hungry demon, and had simply been caught trying to scrounge a handful of noodles from one of these creature's larders. His modest would-be meal had been crushed to dust in the flight and injury that followed. Now he lay on his side, hurt, still hungry, and pledging as he twisted and tugged at the arrows that he could not well see but most definitely could feel, that the next acquaintance that he encountered that tried dismissing the human as a harmless meal possibility should have its liar's tongue cut out and throttled until its head popped off.

"Mother-FUCKER!" He tossed against the laurel trunk, seeing brilliant spots of white against a dark background while marveling how hard he could clench his jaw without his teeth shattering each other. When the last and deepest arrow was removed he sprawled on his stomach in the grass, somehow thinking that a mumbled chant of nothing but strange swearword combinations might be curative in this scenario. How the _hell _had he come into his present complaints thanks to a few garden variety _humans_?

With respect to his ego, Kuronue would blame it on the almost full moon.

* * *

The serving girl asked if she might pour him some wine. He sent her away, unconcerned about potential jests over his tolerance. His present ailment being what it was, he had better sense than to hinder himself further with liquor. Sporting a faint flush, his face would cause any glancing passersby to think that he was already drunk. Kurama was perfectly fine with such a misconception. Really, he'd much rather not have been here at all, and would not have been, but for the circumstances.

_Yomi_, he reflected sourly, was the true culprit of this predicament. Had his friend—late friend, he corrected himself—not been so impulsive, he might not have been so inclined to employ means of disposal. And had he not been made so inclined, he might have presently forgiven those impulses which were a chronic liability to him, and made good use of those which were an asset. The dead demon's image came forth in his fevered mind. Reckless, headstrong, with a smug smirk beneath that cocky gaze beneath those horns. Horns; horn; horny—.

He found his breath grown slightly heavier, a little besides himself thanks to his inconvenient imagination. _Damnable_, he cursed his dead second, his mood grown sourer.

It must have been that time of the night, when suddenly out of the smoky haze the air weeps painted and perfumed women. Kurama regarded two of the nearer ones coolly. Blackened mouth—bad hygiene, or someone's wife? The other might have been her mother, in that the decay was worse. Well, this was after all a small, rural tavern; selection was naturally limited. Still, he wanted as much as possible to decrease the probability of his coming out of this heat pissing a different sort of heat. For a moment he considered his fellow patrons, not all of whom were so appalling, but quickly nixed the idea. Whores were in a position were they did not ask so many questions. Potential diseases aside, they were safer.

His stomach growled still. The Kitsune made to order another bowl, but grew distracted as his shift in position allowed him a new view.

Younger- and cleaner-looking than mot of her present cohorts, she looked as though she were trying to hide among the shadows of the far wall. Pearly skin betrayed her, though, as it shone out against the shadows, against jet hair and dress of deep blue patterned with plum branches. From the feathery appendages sprouting above her eyebrows, he surmised, with a touch of wariness, that she was a Ga, a Moth. Still, she was the least diseased-looking candidate, and at this point he'd already compromised the full reign of his usual discriminate tastes.

Resigning himself to the situation, he closed the space between them to swiftly that she widened her eyes and took a step back. He grasped her sleeve and pulled her closer. "How much?" he asked somewhat abruptly, his voice low. She stammered an answer even lower, that he found agreeable. Right now he was anyway a Fox in no place to argue.

She would be in the third room on the second floor. By now a whisper: "My name is Tsukiko."

Though he didn't consider the latter information to be at all necessary, he found it difficult to suppress a smirk. Tsukiko—"moon child." Had her parents foreseen this irony, of was it a positional name? He would see her in a half-hour, he told her without offering his name.

Finished making his arrangements with her, he left just as swiftly, still needing to quench other appetites. He brushed off a few half-interested looks. Nobody cared so much in this sort of place, and if for whatever reason his conduct was found excessive even for his ilk, the judge could for all he cared give it up to the moon.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N**: Here's Installation the Second, in which the rest of the main cast is introduced and the plot begins to launch. I'm currently doing more research on the Heian period and am happy to have located some deeper information that I plan on applying here as our characters enter a further-extended story environment—i.e. get out of the tavern. 

Oh, and a Warning, since some people do balk at this—language. Yes, the characters in my stories do swear, frequently I think, but in this chapter Kurama uses _the taboo one_, some might call it (I don't, not really). I speak of the term "cunt." Technically this refers to the vulva or vagina; slang-wise it's a derogatory term reserved usually for use toward a woman and most consider it to be much more vulgar than any of the other obscenities. (Remember, this is _Yoko _Kurama, not our demure redhead from later on.) Wow, this is perhaps the _longest _warning I've ever used, and I seldom use warnings. See what the stupid sensitivity over this word drives me to do? But some are sensitive to it, and should they happen upon this, I've gone out of my way to warn you. (_You're welcome._)

Now that that's done with…

* * *

Lunar Effect  
Chapter II  
March 10, 2008 

At least the food was cheap, thought Kuronue, even if what little he'd been able to afford wasn't the best-tasting stuff in the world. Better crud than nothing, after all. He wasn't going to complain; he'd managed this way to save enough money for a woman, even if the cheap price that she named made him a little suspicious of possible unseen expenses. Then again, he thought, scanning the room and considering his fellow patrons, maybe she was afraid of that same thing, and so he'd gotten a discount. Why not? Something good ought to come out of this night, and its events thus far left him wanting.

During his contemplation someone had sat down near him, and now spoke: "You look run down, son." He grunted in the affirmative. Perhaps the prostitute might have some cosmetic in her room that he could entreat her to put on the wounds on his back. "They're feeding you what they usually throw out for the proprietor's dogs," continued the someone. "Are you destitute?"

"More or less," he answered bluntly, as the admission did not bite at his pride. He glanced at is inquisitor, an older demon.

"A pity someone of your youth and build is unable to make a living," bemoaned the demon.

Kuronue nodded dimly—and then snapped to when suddenly he felt a hand rest where the moment before a hand had not been. He rounded on the geezer, holding out his scythe to the lecher's throat, and hissed, "I'd rather be a vagabond!"

His outburst became the focal point of the room. No matter, though, he dismissed, collecting himself and concealing his weapon again. It was almost time that he go upstairs anyhow.

* * *

'Bitch,' thought Kurama irritably. Punctuality was a virtue for which he held high regard, and his whore was late. He stalked about the room, glowering at its gaudy décor, tugging only semi-consciously at his clothes. The heat was so that he felt it might smother him. 

Unfortunately it was not the type that an opened door or window would relieve, and he was growing more and more anxious. With a half-sigh, half-groan he sat down on the bed and fanned himself with one frenzied hand. 

Various thoughts flowed in a torrent through his mind: The heat. His tardy whore. Whether he should pay the egregious price to stay the night, or retire to a den he had nearby. The heat. If his whore didn't appear in a reasonably immediate timeframe he might have to consider indulging in the plant-wielder's cliché in all its tentacled and tendril-ridden glory(1).

The Kitsune grimaced. 'Best make haste, Moth slut.'

* * *

Someone had extinguished the brazier, or it had burnt out, but Kuronue could see a figure reclining on the bed. Minute rays of moonlight filtered into the room, and he saw patches of exposed skin gleam like ivory. Even after the night he'd had so far, he could not hold back a grin. He approached the bed and began to loosen his clothing. "I apologize for being late," he said, kneeling onto the bed.

She took him by surprise, then. In a moment he found himself pounced on and lying on his back, a set of teeth nibbling on his neck. 'Hel-_lo_,' he thought, eyes wide. Maybe she'd been frustrated, though given her profession he couldn't imagine how, and that was why he'd received the discount. Cause regardless, he wouldn't complain. He relaxed his eyelids and breathed in her jasmine—no, there was sandalwood too, as was common enough—, feeling the silk of her hair caress his face. Her mouth ghosted over his flesh and made him sigh. It kissed and nipped his clavicle, trailed lower to his chest…

Abruptly it stopped. Puzzled, he shifted and opened his eyes again. She was silhouetted above him, still, and then sat back away from him. Wondering why she behaved so, he sat up and was about to ask her what was the matter, when something shifted in the pale light and caught his attention. He started: his girl hadn't had a tail. "You're not Tsukiko," he stated.

"Nor are you," replied the tail's owner, its voice, as deep as his own, laced with agitation. It stood and adjusted its clothes. Realizing in the confusion he too had been mussed, he followed suit, trying to keep his movements nonchalant. He thought he heard the other patron mutter "Impertinent cunt," and then the door slide open. Supposing that there would after all be no sex tonight, Kuronue followed, more embarrassed than disappointed. After all, it was not the worst thing he had suffered tonight. Curious, he glanced at the back of the demon he had just mistakenly made out with.

He stared.

The non-Tsukiko was a Kitsune; that explained the tail. In the darkness and dimness of the hall the apparition was practically luminescent with his pale skin, white clothes, and silver hair. Absently Kuronue thought of the moon glowing in the sky outside. "Perhaps I lack room to talk, but I did talk first. How could you mistake me for Tsukiko?"

Kurama turned around and cast a disdainful eye on the non-whore, an underfed, beaten up-looking Bat. "I don't make detailed distinctions between the employees." In truth he had felt so wound up that when he awoke to someone coming into bed with him he hadn't paid his usual attention. "And I don't recall you objecting."

This subtle comparison of himself to "the employees" made Kuronue bristle in indignation. But his insultor, though arrogant, had made the realization first, so he felt that his protests were limited. So he held his tongue, and settled with glowering at the Fox while they went downstairs. One slight was trivial, though if the other demon stumbled over a step and thus hastened his descent, the Bat would not be displeased.

Unfortunately no such stumble occurred. He could have done with a laugh. Even though he could afford an hour upstairs, or would have had his demure Moth not been replaced by a haughty Kitsune, a room for the night was out of the question. He was no stranger to passing the night outdoors, but with his injury would have to pass it keeping watch for other demons who might be attracted to the blood-smell. 

Thoughts of self-preservation assumed more immediate context as something whistled by his head. He paused in mid-step, the world suddenly framed by a curtain of black hair on either side. 

Kurama paused too, the acrid smell of smoke settling in his nostrils. He glanced to his side and coolly regarded the charred imprint in a nearby beam, and then looked behind him. First he saw the Bat, frozen and wide-eyed, hair now loose and several pieces smoking. It then occurred to him that a few portions of his own attire were singed as well. Narrowing his eyes, he looked past the Bat, at the one he presumed responsible for the assault. "Are you drunk," he asked his suspect, "or have I or this demon here wronged you in some way?"

At this suggestion Kuronue winced, thinking of his earlier confrontation. He turned his head, more than half-expecting to see the owner of the too familiar hand.

But no, he had never before laid eyes on this demon. What he saw for the first time now was a Ga in fine and expensive-looking clothes predominated by a dusky purple hue, beneath which a pair of strong tawny wings protruded. Deep gold hair, pulled back sleek and neat, caught the weak light as the Moth tilted his head and gazed at their vulpine acquaintance through contemptuous gray eyes, though a faint glint of amusement was not absent from them.

He spoke now. "Why no, Yoko Kurama," he replied in a voice so courteous that it was obviously intended mockingly. "I've barely had a sip all night. However, I believe that you and your friend there owe me money."

Yoko Kurama. Kuronue had heard the name before. A Fox Spirit that in recent years had accumulated a reputation as a progressively notorious and refined thief. 'Found the source of his arrogance, then.'

Kurama remained nonchalant. "I answer to that name," he acknowledged, "but you've otherwise mistaken me for someone else. While his involvement"—he nodded toward his "friend"—"may be possible, I've never seen you before, nor have I ever robbed you."

Their accuser made a clucking noise with his tongue, and gave them, particularly Kurama, a cold smile. "But you have. My name is Shiruku no Te. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

One of those undeservingly proud local characters. Kurama was familiar with the type. Returning Shiruku no Te's cheery malice, he replied: "I'm sorry. Seldom do I especially concern myself with titular trivialities. The corner of the Ga's mouth spasmed. Kurama's own mouth further curled smugly. "If you're so insistent though, what goods did he and I burgle from you?"

"My whore," growled Shiruku no Te promptly. "You each had a turn with Tsukiko; now you're trying to sneak out without paying for her service."

Kuronue held his hair out of his face so that he might better see Shiruku no Te, and the pimp him. "We didn't…"

"Faulty piece of merchandise, that one," Kurama taunted. "She didn't appear. We don't owe you a thing." Shiruku no Te's face spasmed again. Without giving him a further glance, Kurama turned and advanced toward the exit. It was still early enough that he might find someone else.

Looking briefly at the Kitsune, Kuronue focused the majority of his attention on Shiruku no Te. The Moth pimp looked as though he was about to be sick. Indigo eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and then widened in realization. "Get down!" he shouted to Kurama.

Almost as if he were dancing, not looking back at Bat or Moth, Kurama nimbly dodged the attack, another smoking projection. Highly acidic spitballs, he reflected, appraising the new burn on the tavern wall. Frowning he said to the Ga "You're beginning to irritate me," and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

Somewhere in the background the proprietor voiced his objections to Shiruku no Te's damaging his property, but no ear paid him particular mind. Everyone else had dematerialized from the room, observed Kuronue. Well then, he wasn't going to be the only one left unarmed…

Scythe bared and ready, he looked from the leering pimp to his fellow accused. One eyebrow shot up in bewilderment. The renowned Yoko Kurama held between a finger and a thumb, a common seed. A plant wielder, he wondered. But nothing had happened.

The Bat looked at him expectantly. Kurama gazed at the seed in his hold, feigning indifference. Something was wrong. It should have germinated already, but remained in its smooth brown dormancy. He brushed back a piece of hair that was not in his eyes, discreetly stowing away the seed. It wasn't a dud, and that knowledge disturbed him. Making any indication of this, of course, wasn't an option. Conjuring a smirk, he proclaimed crisply, "I have no time to play with some countrified no one" and resumed his departure.

Shiruku no Te's face took on another nauseated appearance. Kuronue tensed, and shifted. Eccentric as the Fox Spirit was, peculiar airs and sour words were no defense. When the Ga's mouth opened, he threw out his arm and opened his hand. Blood and acid mixed in the air, staining and scalding whatever surface they landed on. The concoction splattered on Kuronue also; he swallowed a cry as he felt the skin of his back, smelt the material of his clothes and his hair burn. For the second time that night, he fled. Out the front, off the porch, down the path; the pimp's yells, part pain and part fury, faded, and Kuronue's ears picked up a new sound, similar to but not quite the wind. His eyes widened, and he threw himself behind the nearest tree.

Kurama had seen the Bat only as a shadow beyond the green haze separating them. While the seed hadn't taken, the grass had proved satisfyingly responsive. Shiruku no Te would not pursue him, unless the former desired the sting of tens of hundreds of grass blades in his flesh.

Where the canopy did not blot it out, the moon illuminated the forest floor, highlighting those more worn trails leading to common destinations. The Fox held little interest in them. He knew of a nearby den where he might sit down a while, and mull over his seed vexation. And so he slipped between some close-set trees, and the lunar shine reflecting off his form faded, like the disintegration of a fine smoke's wisp.

* * *

(1) A little fandom humor. I'm sure a lot of us have at some point seen or read some depiction somewhere of that … what would we call that, a fetish? 


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